


Time Of The Season:  Reese's POV

by AKMars



Series: Time Of The Season: Finch's POV [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small gestures can speak volumes.  Just a short ficlet in honor of the holiday season.  Finch's POV also will be posted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Time Of The Season: Reese's POV  
Rating: General  
Finch & Reese/Friendship**

 

 _"But you could've if you had known in time and that's the other thing I'm offering you, the chance to be there, in time...."_

******************

A demonstrative man, his employer was not. So the small, square leather box that sat catty-corner on the table looked as if had been left behind by accident. The ex-operative wouldn't have spared it a second glance if not for the folded piece of foolscap it weighed down.

Continuing curiosity to learn more about the reclusive billionaire drew Reese over to where the box waited. He inspected it thoroughly with his eyes before sliding the paper out. He unfolded it; the writing was small but very precise.

 _R;  
Thank you for being in time.  
H.F._

Reese lifted the case, enjoying the buttery softness and aroma of the well made leather. He opened it and resting in the hunter green velvet interior sat a pocket watch. The timepiece warmed quickly in his palm. From its weight, the CIA man judged the case to be solid gold and most assuredly an antique...it felt quite old.

The hinged lid eased open at his touch and Reese spent a moment admiring the elegant hand-numbering on its face. It was from the mid-1800s at the latest. He tilted it to get a better look at the company name when a glint from inside the lid caught his eye.

Engraved on the inner surface he read:

 ** _N. Ingram, Christmas 1978_**

Reese felt the back of his neck twitch and turned around to see no-one there. He'd scanned the library office a hundred times for surveillance equipment and come up empty. He also knew, however that a man with Finch's resources could access technology that he could only dream of.

The operative looked back down at the watch and a small smile crossed his lips. Placing it in his pocket he headed out to the stairs. He paused at the door and smiled again, knowing that he was being observed.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Harold."


	2. Time Of The Season:  Finch's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same scenario but from Finch's viewpoint. Please see notes in story.

**Time Of The Season: Finch's POV  
** Rating: General  
Finch/Reese

Note: Finch's perspective. 'Time Of The Season' is not set during the events of the pilot episode...I was merely moved to write it after viewing the pilot again (the only thing I took from the pilot was the quote at the beginning of my original story). I actually thought about it in the context of Christmas a year from now...R & F would be used to working as a team and thus the scenario is plausible.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_You know, before we...before I found you; the numbers haunted me. I'd never felt so helpless in my entire life...and I know I can't get justice for all of them; but the possibility of having for just one..._

 

The man Harold Finch had been before 'the numbers' was not one to let others too near. He kept himself at a distance physically and emotionally to the world around him, existing in it but apart from it. The one time he had allowed the intimacy of a personal attachment, it had ended in the death of the other party and cost him his health.

Admittedly, it had been the fault of outside circumstances rather than the relationship itself...but the results were no less devastating or painful because of the distinction. All that remained of their time together was a small collection of Nathan's personal effects.

It was this collection that Finch was sorting through now with almost ruthless zeal, purging items that time had dulled his connection to. Scraps of paper, notes Ingram had written with suggestions for tweaks to the 'Machine's' program...credit cards...library card...driver's license...all were shredded and disposed of.

The cull continued until at last only two items remained...the first, a gold pocketwatch given to Nate by his father the Christmas that he and Finch had started their first business...He remembered his partner showing it to him, the way the sunlight reflected off the heavy case; flashing on the Coke-bottle lenses of those ridiculous glasses his prescription forced him to wear at the time.

The second was Ingram's last cellphone, immaculately maintained with a fresh-charged battery. Finch had disabled it's ability to connect with the internet and removed the GPS tracking chip just after his partner's death...it had been necessary to maintain the fiction of his own demise.

The watch he'd kept because it had belonged to Ingram; the phone because it had been a part of him...his daily life, his routine. Finch picked it up, stroking the brushed steel case with gentle fingers. The last message he received from Nathan had been just before he'd died; from this very phone. He pulled out his own device and punched a few buttons, holding it up to his ear.

_"Hi, it's me. Look...I'm sorry we argued this morning. I shouldn't have yelled at you, I was wrong and I apologize. (sigh) It's, it's just there's got to be something, anything we can do to help. I know it bothers you too, deep down...I know the kind of person you are and you can't just turn off how you feel...I KNOW you!"_

_"(deep breath) Those numbers...they're not just statistics...they're people. Each one is a living, breathing person and we can help stop what's going to happen to them, I know we can. Please...just hear me out again later. I'll keep my temper, I promise. Let's just talk when I get home, alright? I miss you...."_

Finch 'saved' the message again and ended the call. He stared at his phone for a moment before turning it off.

"I did help, Nathan. I found someone who could help us save as many as we are able to. You'd like Reese, I think. He's quiet, like you and just as stubborn when something moves him; he doesn't hold anything back." The billionaire's lips quirked into a small smile.

"We're making a difference at last...and you were right, it matters. The numbers are people and they deserve to be protected or, well...they aren't all victims, Nathan...some are very bad and we take care of them as well." Finch paused, feeling the dull, familiar ache of grief in his chest. "I miss you too..."

Reese had made the difference. With his assistance Finch had been able to go from helpless despair to getting justice, even though what they did was a drop in the proverbial bucket. In the past year, they'd found a level of trust for one another that was comfortable, familiar for them both...within boundaries, of course.

Finch put Ingram's phone back into the container and picked up the watch, opening the case and reading the inscription once again. He smiled as a thought crossed his brain. He returned the timepiece to its leather box and carried it to his desk, pulling a piece of paper from the tray and penned a short note in his neat hand. Folding the paper, he placed it on the corner of the computer table, weighing it down with the watch case.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He watched from the computer in Burdett's apartment. He saw his partner find the watch and then look around in vain for the wireless camera Finch had installed in the library last week. When Reese spoke, Harold started in surprise. The man knew he was watching and he wasn't angry...he was, amused.

"Merry Christmas John." He murmured to his friend's retreating back.


End file.
